


Take You As My Own

by TheOceanIsMyInkwell



Series: I Promise You It's Worth It [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Peter Parker, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Professor Tony Stark, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trans Peter Parker, basically peter shows tony some pics from when he was female presenting, bc he's a very extra mentor professor dad figure, it's very very lightly glossed over, tony throws peter a birthday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell
Summary: “So. My question, sir. Care to share with the class why you’re inside indulging on”--Tony glances over at the glass in Peter’s hand--“fine H-two-O and not, y’know, outside? Where the nice people and food tend to be?”“It’s hot,” Peter says.“It's July, that is correct," Tony says. "Which is why there’s a pool.""Right," says Peter. He sucks at his bottom lip between his teeth. "A pool."“For the pool party.”“Uh-huh.”“They do say brevity is the soul of wit,” Tony remarks. “It’s times like this, though, I thank the higher powers you’re not in the humanities.”--In the wake of Uncle Ben's passing, Tony hosts Peter's 19th birthday party at his house. When he prods the kid to know why he isn't getting into the pool, Peter begins to truly confide in him about his experience being a trans guy and shows him photos of his pre-transition self as a child. Cue Tony deciding to adopt the kid even harder.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: I Promise You It's Worth It [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365187
Comments: 32
Kudos: 283





	Take You As My Own

**Author's Note:**

> So this series is just becoming a space for me to dump all my trans-related venting while simultaneously producing like 50% of the trans!Peter content I wanna see in this fandom. While this may seem a bit plotless, I feel like showing anyone pictures of one's pre-transition self is a huge, _huge_ moment in any trans person's life, and how the other person reacts is an even bigger deal to some extent. And so I wanted to explore that with Peter and Tony within the bounds of the professor-student dynamic and make an extended scene out of it. Considering that Peter almost never opens up to Tony except when he's in real pain, this is quite the step for the two of them.
> 
> I know the tags mentioned a suicide attempt, but it's in Peter's past and he talks around it in indirect language. The moment passes very quickly, from "Something squeezes" to "His breathing comes short and heavy." Stay safe, my muffins.
> 
> Theme song and title inspiration (this is literally SO iron dad): ["Slow Your Breath Down" by Future of Forestry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sepUzgAnlzs)

“Ahh, there he is!”

Peter chokes a bit on the water he’s gulping down as Tony strolls into the kitchen, arms spread wide.

“Man of the hour. Wait, no, stop. That sounded weird. Did that sound weird? Don’t answer, it was definitely weird. The word ‘man’ in relation to you is never coming out of my mouth ever again.”

Peter swallows down the last of his water with a squint at Tony. He twists around to set the glass down in the corner of the sink. “The timing of this being my birthday party is making it real hard to decide if you’re trying to insult me or not.”

Tony waves a hand breezily in his direction and saunters over to the fridge. “Lemme know when you’ve worked it out. Knowing you? You’re all benefit and no doubt.”

Peter redoubles his squinty efforts at the man, which all go to waste because Tony has his back turned to him and his head still stuck in the refrigerator.

“What’re you doing here, anyway, huh?” Tony asks. “Beer’s in the basement, Capri Suns are in the coolers by the pool.”

“You know I drink neither of those things,” Peter points out. And tacks on: “Turn around so I can roll my eyes properly at you.”

Miraculously, Tony does. And Peter has the absolute pleasure of rolling his eyes for four whole seconds at his former professor as the man slurps down a can of coconut water.

“See?” Tony says triumphantly. “Child. With child instincts. _Not_ man of the hour.”

“I’m reporting you to the dean.”

Tony takes another slurp. “If I get fired, you’ll have no more office to take free naps in and eat animal crackers.”

“You literally only give me snacks so you can see the look on my face when you announce them with alliteration.”

“Every man has his sins.” Tony shrugs, spins a bit to face the counter, and sets his can of coconut water down in favor of slapping the granite with a palm. “So. My question, sir. Care to share with the class why you’re inside indulging on”--he glances over at the glass in Peter’s hand--“fine H-two-O and not, y’know, outside? Where the nice people and food tend to be?”

“It’s hot,” Peter says.

“It's July, that is correct," Tony says. "Which is why there’s a pool."

"Right," says Peter. He sucks at his bottom lip between his teeth. "A pool."

“For the pool party.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They do say brevity is the soul of wit,” Tony remarks. “It’s times like this, though, I thank the higher powers you’re not in the humanities.”

Peter pins him with a droll look.

Tony raises his hands in defense. “ _Or_ , we could just assume you’re a hydrophobic kitty-cat--you already look like a baby poodle, it ain’t a stretch, Mr. Parker--and we’ll leave it at that.”

“I am _not_ afraid of the water.”

“Oh. Hm. Well.” Tony sips his can primly. “I see. Your Aunt Gnocchi would seem to disagree.”

Peter narrows his eyes up at the man. “I find it really hard to take this--this threatening stance very seriously when you’re drinking coconut water.”

“This is me celebrating a decade of sobriety, you _cretin_.”

“Abusive language? That’s going on next semester’s CIFs, for sure.”

“This, coming from the kid who likes La Croix.”

Peter’s jaw drops with a silent gasp of betrayal.

“Impasse,” Tony says with a roguish grin. 

“No, _no_ -o, _not_ impasse. I am _gay_ and this is a _hate crime_.”

“Truly, I’ve missed our enlightening conversations from office hours,” Tony rejoins with a dramatic sigh of wistfulness. “In the span of twelve seconds, you’ve accused me of about six different violations of the faculty conduct handbook.”

“I’m never getting anything done with you as my advisor on my thesis,” Peter moans into the sink.

“Agreed. Shall we step out for a dip to cool off?”

“If I drown, you can answer to my lawyer.”

It’s Tony’s turn to serve him a look.

Peter peeks up at him through the side of his cowlick. “My lawyer. My neighbor upstairs. Okay, fine, he did come home fired one day for doing some shady stuff, so I’m pretty sure he lost his license and he’s running an underground gerbil trading business online now or something, but my threat still stands.”

Tony peers at him over the top of his festively round mint green sunglasses. He sniffs. “Seriously, kid. Do you not know how to swim?”

“I _know_ how to swim,” Peter stresses. “In theory.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I just haven’t done it in a while. Since, uh--I started binding.”

There’s a beat. Tony sucks down a final, sacrilegious-sounding gulp of coconut water in the silence. And then: “Ah. A-ha. I see.”

Peter’s answering look is dry. “No, you don’t, but I really appreciate the professorly answer. That’s--that’s the most professorly thing I’ve seen you do all day. I should’ve caught it on Snapchat.”

“Deflection doesn’t look good on you, Mr. Parker. As they often say in the writing center: clear before clever.”

“I am not an essay, I’m a boy,” Peter whines. “Man. Boy--man.”

“Still haven’t settled that one either, but go on.”

“Okay. Well. Think of it like this.” Peter straightens and holds his hands out in full preparation to unleash his patented gestures. “You’ve got your wrists tied with rope.”

When there’s a pause, Tony says, “I’m not instantly seeing where this is going, and that doesn’t usually happen.”

“Your wrists are tied with rope,” Peter repeats. “You’re on a--on a boat? Somebody kidnapped you? Wants to--ransom you for your royalties? Anyway. Backstory not important. You’re there, exposed to water and sun, your ropes get wet. Then the sun dries them and--”

“--And the ropes tighten and cut off circulation, right, got it,” Tony finishes for him. “I remember the treasure island fiction phase I went through as a kid.” He sniffs again. “I...at the risk of sounding atrociously ignorant, and if I am, feel free to bash my coconut water some more or--no, that’s not commensurate. Give me a one-star on Rate My Professor. Yeah. That. Well. At the risk of sounding ignorant, how...different is a binder from a…” He makes a vague, round gesture in front of his pecs. “...You know?”

“A bra?” Peter deadpans. The color that rises to Tony’s cheeks in answer is enough to make the boy snort.

“Yes,” Tony hisses. “ _That_. I wasn’t sure if it was okay to say that around you.”

Something softens immeasurably in Peter’s expression at that. They stare at one another for a full second and a half, before the man predictably grows uncomfortable with the eye contact and shoves his hands into the pockets of his chino shorts.

“For the record, it is okay to say that around me,” Peter says, his tone even softer than his visage. “Um. Yeah. It is different. It’s like--it’s compression, y’know? It sure would be uncomfortable to wear a wet bra, but under most circumstances it wouldn’t...you know. Cut off your breathing. And binders--binders do that well enough on their own when they’re _dry_.”

“Sweet,” Tony mutters. He crumples his can in the middle and drops it in the recycling canister by his foot. “That’s wonderful.”

“I know I could take it off for a bit,” Peter starts out, but Tony cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“No, I could never ask that of you, Peter. That’s--no. Off the table. For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to tease you so much about the swimming thing. I’m genuinely happy that you’re just here.”

“Thanks,” Peter replies in an odd voice, the look in his eyes to match feeling even odder to the man.

They shuffle on their feet on the cool tile for a few seconds more. Tony bows his head and scratches the back of his neck, and then sucks in a breath to thank the kid for sharing this with him, when Peter opens his own mouth to speak at the same time.

“Wanna see something?”

Under ordinary circumstances, Tony would definitely sass him back with something along the lines of _sure, kid, as long as it’s not your grades_ , but today he just nods.

Peter fishes in the pocket of his board shorts for his phone. After searching for Google Photos, he taps something and then flips the screen for Tony.

“Oh,” Tony says after the space of his shock. “Oh.”

Blown up on the screen is the grainy scan of a school photo of Peter with a shoulder-length bob. He’s toothless in front, grinning, bambi eyes wide and sparkling. Baby hairs stick up at all angles from his hairline. He has on a little white button-down, the collar lopsided, shoulders a bit droopy on his narrow shoulders. It takes Tony but an instant to recognize that unique asymmetrical angle in Peter’s right eyebrow.

“That one’s my second favorite from before,” Peter says quietly. “Photo day from third grade. I told May I wanted to wear a white shirt for the picture instead of the dress she got me. I remember the dress was mint green. She’d never bought me anything mint green before. It was--objectively really pretty. But I couldn’t wear it.”

“She said yes, then.”

“Obviously.”

Tony grins around the tightness in his throat. “Obviously.” His hands are suddenly itching to reach out and take the phone from Peter, but he quells the urge. “So...what’s your absolute favorite? You said this was your second.”

“Hold on a sec.” Peter scrolls up a bit, and then this time he stretches out his hand to offer the phone physically to Tony.

The man hesitates for a beat. When he takes it, the device feels heavy, almost absurdly so, as if he’s the only one imagining the weight of this moment even though he knows with considerable clarity that Peter must be feeling the same way.

This time on the screen it’s a very young teenage Peter, or perhaps tween. The photo looks like it might have been captured on one of those sliding phones with subpar camera quality. Peter is caught in media res, slung at a weird angle across the seat of an orange plastic swing, hands curled loosely around the chains and nose wrinkled where he’s trying to spit his long brown curls from his mouth. Tony’s eye is caught by the jacket Peter has on over his hoodie: teal green and dark purple and bright magenta patchwork, like something shaken out of a ’90s time capsule. The kid’s jeans are loose and light-washed, cuffed at the hems above battered red Converse with Sharpie doodles all over them.

Tony searches the farthest corners of his mind for a comment that refers neither to Peter’s hair nor to the thin layer of makeup around his eyes.

“You were...thinner before,” is what he finally settles on.

“Testosterone fills up the cheeks and makes you look like a chipmunk for a good long while before settling in your jawline,” Peter explains conversationally. “I definitely...had a different face shape before.”

“This is your favorite?” The second question is clear: _Why? You look nothing like this now_.

Peter’s jaw clicks as he wiggles it back and forth. “Uh-huh. I was twelve. Ned took the photo. It was--a complicated day.”

Tony doesn’t prompt him; he waits, listens, as the kid cracks his knuckles and shifts from foot to foot. The man keeps his eyes trained on the photo, this slice of surrealism before him, as he anticipates the boy’s explanation.

“Ned was the first person I came out to,” Peter whispers. “That was the day I did it. And--I thought that there would be some relief, y’know? In telling people, telling _somebody_ , finally about this thing that’s been eating you up inside. But the thing is, it’s so hard to expect people to believe you when--or even to believe _yourself_ \--when, when you look like that. When you’re not…” Peter gestures with an undercurrent of desperation. All his articulate nature at explaining the academic has disappeared in a heartbeat, vanished under the pressure of something so personal and so real.

“I didn’t even believe myself when I said it,” Peter goes on after a moment. “I thought--I thought it was maybe the result of something...bad that had happened to me before. Ned believed me, though. He didn’t question it. He didn’t doubt me for a second. And it--and it made me feel like _shit_. Like a _fraud_.” Peter’s blinking rapidly now. He stumbles back a bit until his back hits the steely cold fridge. 

“For hours I felt worse after I’d come out to him. I thought it would be better, y’know? I thought--I thought.” Peter’s hand is trembling. He passes it briefly over his eyes to hide the tremor and tucks it under his armpit. “Well. I went up to my Uncle Ben and Aunt May that night and I thought I was going to say it. Maybe they were the ones I needed to come out to. But I couldn’t do it. It was like there was something caught in my mouth, and I was convinced that it was my conscience telling me I had to stop lying.”

Something squeezes, once, vicious, relentless, in Tony’s chest.

“So I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and there was the medicine cabinet and--”

“--Peter,” Tony cuts in for the first time.

Abruptly, mercifully, the kid grinds to a halt. His breathing comes short and heavy.

“Peter,” Tony says again. “Take a second. Just...breathe.”

The boy’s eyes flick up for the first time in forever to meet his. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, as he digs an invisible abyss in the tile with his toe. “I didn’t mean to tell you all that. I was just explaining the picture.” He gulps. “Sorry. Again.”

Tony licks his lips and chooses his words carefully. “I’m okay with hearing this. But the question is--are you okay telling this?”

Peter hesitates, then offers a vigorous nod.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay.” He leans back against the edge of the counter.

In the thickness between them, Peter untucks his hands from his armpits.

“So this is your favorite picture?” Tony prompts him gently.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes. “Because I didn’t do it. I mean...there was a time I actually tried to, and, and, that’s neither here nor there, and I don’t feel like talking about that right now. But I hated this picture for the longest time ever because of the memory of that day that it brings me. But at the same time, it’s the only visual I have of the day I came out to Ned, you know? And so that’s probably the only reason for a long time why I didn’t delete it. Then after I came out to my aunt and uncle, and my first haircut happened, and binding, and just general social transitioning, and picking a name...I started not to hate that picture so much. I don’t know how it happened. It wasn’t like one day I woke up and it just clicked. It was...gradual. A few years ago I never wanted to look at this, and now...it’s the one picture that gives me so much hope.”

His voice ends in an upturn. A pleading, an offering for Tony to explain. For the teacher to teach.

“Because you can compare it with what you look like now and see the concrete changes?” Tony suggests.

“Maybe.”

“And maybe, also--if I may--” Tony clears his throat. “Maybe it’s worth remembering the times when we...almost did something, but we didn’t. Because then that leads us to think of how far we’ve been able to come because we didn’t do it. We didn’t end things.” He punctuates his impromptu analysis with a tiny cough into his fist.

Peter is hoarse. “Yeah, probably.”

“Peter?”

The kid hums.

“Look at me for a sec?”

Reluctantly, Peter obeys him.

“After hearing what you just told me about this picture, I think it’s one of my favorites too.”

A muscle twitches in Peter’s jaw. A war rises in his eyes: _you’re just saying that because I poured my heart out to you._ And _really? You really think so?_ And: _is this the moment you finally understand me?_

“Listen, we don’t tend to share a lot of...deeply personal stuff with each other. I know that. We have this fun mentor-mentee thing going on with the crazy insults and the, the ridiculously on-point roasting, and I certainly know I wasn’t expecting to hear this or--or have you show me all these photos during your birthday party, but--nuh-uh-uh, this is not a guilt trip. Lemme finish.” Tony holds up a finger. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m...I’m glad. That we’ve reached this…” The man gestures helplessly with his right hand.

“...That we’re there now?” Peter suggests around a wobbly smile.

Tony flashes him a lopsided and soft little smirk of his own. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that. I’m glad we’re there now, where you feel comfortable to show me this. And you...trust me. Even though I could never, ever understand your experience the same way as someone who walked with you through it from the beginning. Or someone who wears the same shoes.”

“It’s okay,” Peter rasps. His smile is growing wider. “It’s definitely okay to not...wear the same shoes. We’re sort of, uh, sort of the same size.”

“Right. You wear the Converse, I’ll have the Timberlands,” Tony quips.

“Really not sure we’re talking about the same metaphor anymore,” Peter says with a wet grin.

“This is what I’m talking about. We would be so fucked if we were in the humanities.”

“You said a bad language word. That’s going straight in my complaint letter to the dean.”

“See?” says Tony. “This is what I’m talking about. We’re friends, right? We’re adults. We can--we can talk about feelings and sad things _and_ we can joke around too.” He points at Peter with a chuckle. “We can also talk about your thesis, Mr. Parker. In due time.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, grin toothy as ever.

Tony steps forward at the same time that the kid gravitates almost unconsciously in his direction. The man claps a hand around his shoulder. “C’mon. Have some more disgusting La Croix. I think you’ve earned a free pass at it. You can tell me more stories about this Ned character and educate me on trans jokes while we sit outside in the sun and dip our feet in the water.”

Peter lifts a brow at him. “As long as you promise not to push me in.”

Tony raises his free hand in defense. “Never, kid. I swear it. As for other acts of micro-aggression...well.” His smile turns sharklike. “It’s free real estate.”

**Author's Note:**

> The photos I had in mind were generally inspired by Miles McKenna's pre-transition photos, as shared on [his insta](https://www.instagram.com/themilesmckenna). I have been following Miles on YouTube since before he came out and I see so much of my experience in his. His energy and his relentless positivity often move me to tears. If you're looking for somebody with absolutely crazy humor who's also crazy smart and articulate and encouraging, then consider subscribing to Miles!
> 
> And writing this piece was really...cathartic. As a trans guy who grew up very femme-presenting, the moment of coming out is always nerve-wracking. Gender is a social construct, sure, but it's always hard to know for sure if the person you're coming out to can see past appearances and believe what you're saying without going "oh! but you like makeup!" or (for trans women) "oh! but you've never seemed girly to me!" and so on and so forth. This is just one of the hundreds of reasons it takes such courage to choose life and exist as someone in the LGBTQ+ community, and from one gay bro another, I love you. I see you. I respect you. Keep on keeping on.
> 
> Any reactions and/or feedback are, as always, deeply appreciated, more than you could ever know <3 Thank you for reading :) -kaleb
> 
> muh tumblr: theoceanismyinkwell  
> muh insta: kc.barrie


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